Silent Worship
by EbonyDraygon
Summary: Set after "Misbegotten", Michael finds himself once again at odds with his 'rescuers'. Tortured and alone, a chance meeting soon reveals a kindred spirit amongst his enemies. One-shot.


**Taking place after Season 2's "Misbegotten", Michael finds a kindred spirit aboard the enemy hiveship that rescued them**

**SGA doesn't belong to me, though I really wish it did...**

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Silent Worship

He had believed that he would be able to escape.

That had been the plan.

His 'brothers' had other ideas.

Those that were now like him, tainted, had attempted to buy their freedom by revealing that he knew the location of the Lantians.

The deal hadn't gone according to plan.

He lay, broken, in a cell. The wraith, their 'rescuers', had taken great pleasure in torturing him. They made him watch as they fed off the others, both those that had reverted and the human ones.

Then it had been his turn to suffer.

But not from feeding, they had more painful methods in mind. They broke him steadily, physically and psychologically. Then they had left him.

But they wouldn't let him die. Not yet.

A sound from outside his cell. Guards? No, they had believed him too weak to attempt an escape. The being known now as Michael raised his head and looked. It was a female worshipper, barely past the cusp of womanhood. He recognized her sad brown eyes that had watched his 'punishment' with a mingle of empathy and horror.

Why?

The woman opened the cell door and walked up to him. She didn't seem to mind that the door sealed behind her, all her attention was on Michael. She knelt next to him and placed down her burden.

A bowl of water.

Slowly, she began to gently rub a cloth over Michael's face, as if she was trying to see if she could wash away the human taints on his features.

Or was she trying to wash away the wraith?

He raised his arm to brush her away. The motion sent her scuttling backwards across the cell floor. Did she believe he was going to harm her? In his current condition, that seemed unlikely. Michael raised himself on his elbows and looked hard at the female.

There were scratches on her face, bruising on her arms and dried blood visible below her neck from a wraith feeding. An unbroken worshipper.

He didn't know why, but he felt compassion for this creature, being turned into something against her will.

Like him.

But soon she would have no choice. She would become another grovelling servant of those that had once been his brothers.

Maybe…

The sound of footsteps from farther off startled the worshipper. She picked up her cloth and bowl. With a last, longing look at Michael, she opened the door and left the cell.

He eased himself up on half healed limbs. He leant with his back to a wall, ignoring the increasing pain he felt. He was used to pain. He could still smell her scent in the air. Sweet, but with the bitter tang of fear.

He had no right to, but he hoped she would come again.

She did.

When he refused to give them what they wanted, he was tortured. When he was returned to his cell, she would come. He had wondered if she had been sent to spy on him, but her obvious fear showed him the error of his judgement. She would come to his cell, tears staining her cheeks or her eyes haunted with fear.

It seemed that his 'brothers' were having a harder time at breaking this one to their will.

He would note her movements, when he could. She followed her instructions and obeyed their commands, but everything she did was foreshadowed by her all-consuming fear. He had wondered why she had been left this way. Surely, a wraith would wish for his worshipper to be devoted and without this tainting terror.

When he saw to which wraith she was forced to attend to, he realised why she was left in fear.

It was during one of his interrogations. His "questioner" was taking great pleasure in watching as his body was repeatedly slashed with razor like knives. She had entered, her head bowed with meekness. The large wraith had turned from the spectacle and growled at her. The quiet worshipper had opened her mouth to speak, and Michael found himself longing to hear her voice. The chief torturer had other plans, sending her flying with a back-handed swipe. The smile that curled the big wraith's lips made Michael curl his in a snarl. The wraith must have noticed.

"_Something to your displeasure, hybrid?" _

He had snarled in his registrants, attempting to make that wraith suffer for insulting him, for torturing him, for harming _his_ worshipper.

That was when he had realised that she had become special to him. In that room, with his blood dripping to form pools on the floor, the wraith laughing as it dragged the terrified girl towards him by her hair and forced him to watch as it marked her skin with its talons and the razor blades that had been formally used on him. His blood mingled with hers as the already bloody blades sliced into her flesh and great drops of blood fell to the floor and pooled with his own.

No wraith should treat a worshipper like that.

He would have his revenge on them.

She came to him afterwards.

They had returned him to his cell, weak and blooded. Somehow, he knew that he had to escape, had to leave before they grew tired of his resistance and merely killed him for being an Abomination. When she came to him, he could see her dried blood caking her exposed skin, while his darker blood stained the hem of her robe. She entered his cell and knelt next to him. He felt her warm arms embrace him and he nestled his face in her blood-caked hair. Her sweet scent was tainted by the coppery tang of blood.

They sat like that, each entwining themselves around the other. His worshipper, winding her fingers through his short cropped hair, he, running his hands through her once silky locks. The sound of approaching footsteps brought them from their reverie. She looked at him with her dark brown eyes, and in them he saw something new. An angry fire, a need for vengeance, that burned almost as brightly as his own. Taking the time to stroke her cheek once more, he stood to his feet, prepared to fight for his freedom. Two drones came to stand before his cell, their weapons raised. What he feared had come true. They were to take him to his death.

It was the silent worshipper that saved him.

She had stood before him, shielding his body with her own. The stunner shots collided with her with her chest, causing her to jerk and flinging her head back before she collapsed to the floor. He didn't wait. As soon as the shots were fired, he launched himself at the drones, snapping the neck of the nearest one before they could react to his sudden assault. He stunned the second, and took his fill from its unconscious form. He felt the life force fill him and heal his injuries, making him roar with pleasure. All too quickly for his liking, he had taken all that the drone had to offer. Now he was free, armed and his hunger partially slated. Now, he could escape.

No… not yet.

He turned back to his silent worshipper. She lay on the ground, unconscious and unaware. How easy it would be for him to take her life energy and slake his hunger. He knelt beside her. A small smile curled the corner of her lips, something that had never adorned her person in all the time he had known her. He stiffened as he realised that his feeding hand was pressed lightly over her sternum. Only a wraith would be so brutal as to take the life of this young worshipper and only a human would consider leaving her behind to save himself.

_He_ was neither.

He gathered her gently in his arms, arranging her unconscious form so that he could still use his stunner. He looked once more at her face, so smooth with sleep. He would not leave her. He left the cell once more, cradling her in his arms, then ran through the hive, heading for freedom.

Vengeance would still be his to claim.

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**Please R&R. **

**I don't know if I'll write a sequal or not, have to see how this one does and if I have the time.**


End file.
